


Hug Me Til You Drug Me, Honey

by flying_siphonophore



Series: Kinktober 2020 [17]
Category: Cowboy Bebop (Anime)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aphrodisiacs, Begging, Drugs, Drugs Made Them Do It, Dubious Consent, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Fuck Or Die, Light Angst, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Sex Pollen, Smut, Somnophilia, Spike Lives and Bounties are still a thing lol, Vaginal Fingering, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-28 13:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flying_siphonophore/pseuds/flying_siphonophore
Summary: Kiss Me Til I'm In a Coma.After a bounty collection goes awry, Spike does all he can to help you through the night.
Relationships: Spike Spiegel/Reader, Spike Spiegel/You
Series: Kinktober 2020 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949620
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	Hug Me Til You Drug Me, Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Oct. 18: Aphrodisiac + Fuck Or Die with Spike!
> 
> So please mind the tags, but Spike and the Reader talk at the end and it's v cute and soft, so please don't be concerned!
> 
> The title and part the summary is from Aldous Huxley's _Brave New World._

Spike thinks you're a fucking idiot.

"You _what?_ " He whips around in front of the Bebop, eyes almost bugging out of his head.

"Yeah." You're entirely too nonchalant when showing him the painfully swollen puncture wound on your thigh. It’s lumped out and looks like a nasty bee sting, but bruised and dark and discolored. "I don't feel anything though." You shrug, a thoughtful frown on your face.

The crew had been hunting down a drug dealer worth a hefty bounty. Upon splitting up to look for him on Neptune, you were the first to come into contact with him, with Spike showing up as backup in the midst of your struggle with the man.

His specialty was party drugs, drugs that make you want to move and dance and fuck. The reason he got noticed at all was because whatever new shit he was slinging killed people.

"We need to get you to a hospital," Spike says, attempting to buffer you back off the swaying dock.

"It was like an hour ago!" You cry, fisting his suit jacket and stiffening up. Spike glares down at you, hands under your armpits, more than ready to lift you off your feet and carry you there himself. "And I pulled the syringe out before it could empty out. If anything was going to happen, it would have happened by now."

Spike groans, slouches forward to rest his head on your shoulder.

You pat his back. "It's cool, big guy. I'll let you know if something changes."

Spike thinks he's a fucking idiot, too. He should've gone with his gut, really. His soft spot for you is dangerous, suggesting something more to the ease with which you touch each other, that you trust each other. You were his replacement after his final confrontation with Vicious and Julia left him deathly injured. You moved into what had once been his room when he came crawling back after avoiding any and all communication with Jet, Faye, and Ed for months.

You didn't ask questions--you even offered him his room back, which he declined, though he was silently relieved to see you had saved his things from being thrown out. You've had his back where the others have struggled to trust him again. The lack of history between you has been legitimately refreshing. You're thoughtful and quiet, you do your job and don't ask questions except to try and make him laugh, and Spike can almost pretend like he hasn't done terrible things in his life when he's in your company.

He certainly hasn't done terrible things to you, not like he's wronged Jet or Faye or Ed. Not like how he was wronged by Julia and Vicious. He supposes the things he wants to do to you could be terrible, but the good kind of terrible. The kind that keeps him awake at night in a haze of achy desire instead of dread.

As much as it scares him to desire someone again, he's slowly discovering that without the weight of jaded attachment or history in every interaction, it reminds him he isn't so tied to his past anymore.

Upon entering the Bebop, and after cleaning the wound and injecting you with a general infection and viral preventative, everyone in the crew agrees to you being monitored by at least one person at all times. You do fine hanging out with Jet before dinner, though you didn’t eat much during. Spike keeps catching your eye, catching you _staring_ , finding your gaze wandering and dreamy, punching something through him he doesn’t think he deserves anymore. It makes him gulp down his beer and give you a concerned look that you meet with a smile and heavy eyes.

Afterwards, you sit and pet Ein for about an hour, who luxuriates under your constant attention. Spike recognizes the symptoms of a person coming up, and the lethargy in your motions makes him nervous. Later, Faye follows you to your room in the evening, but someone who is hopped up on an unknown substance with military training isn't going to be kept in one place long, especially when the person observing you is Faye of all fucking people.

Spike, awakened by anxiety, almost wants to scream when he finds you standing alone and half naked in the small dark kitchen of the ship, downing a massive jug of purified water in front of the open fridge door. He can see you're sweating, see you're swollen with a flush and trembling, and guilt eats away at the bounty hunter.

"You lied, didn't you?"

You almost drop the jug of water, some of it spilling down your chin, dampening the thin tank top you're wearing. Strands of your hair stick to your face and neck, your skin shining under the meager fridge lightbulb behind you.

You choke on his name, and it's not hard to see how wide your pupils have gotten since just hours ago, how your gaze flicks over him with lustful interest, how your nipples have perked through your wet shirt and cast shadows across your chest. You’ve finished coming up, or maybe still in the process of coming up, he can’t quite tell. But it's clear whatever you were injected with has been in effect. And it's strong.

Spike crosses his arms tight over his front, frowning at you in an effort to smother the lingering sparks of arousal he feels just at the sight of you.

Silence balloons in the space between you, broken by a keening, almost annoyed groan. It drawls quietly from you, and sounds entirely too lascivious for the seriousness of this situation. Spike chews on his bottom lip as he watches you lean against the open fridge door, head falling on your crossed arms.

"About what?" You murmur, nearly naked hips swaying to and fro. Spike's eyes skitter back up the enthralling arch of your back, to your curled shoulders, to the wide gleam in your eye.

Spike breathes in deep, carefully aligning his features into practiced neutrality. "About how much of a dose you got."

Your jaw works side to side, eyes suddenly drooping with drowsiness. Your body seems to sag under some invisible weight even more. Spike hates himself for thinking you look divine in such a vulnerable state. "I didn't. The people who survived told us they took way more than what I got injected with.” You grimace at him, making a face. “Also, I was kind of shot, Spike. It’s not like I took it on purpose."

Spike wants to pull his hair out and rakes a hand aggressively through his dark curls. He needs a fucking cigarette. "How do you even know how much you got injected with? _Fuck_ , I should have marched you off to a fucking hospital anyway. Goddamn it--"

"--granted, they did say the guys who died were the ones who weren't fucking," you continue, voice slurring and drunk.

Spike blinks at you quickly. You're still staring, one arm hanging under the weight of the water jug.

You lick moisture away from your lips. Your eyes remain fixated upon him. "Certainly wasn't gonna go find just _anyone_."

Spike is horrified by the painful throb of interest that rolls through him at your meaningful gaze, all mixed up with unfounded jealousy over the possibility of you fucking people that don't even exist.

He groans your name, rubbing his hands over his face. "You really believe that sex was what kept those people alive? Not pure dumb luck?"

"Every survivor said they were sexually active while taking the drugs. The ones who died were witnessed alone or died alone." You sniff and shrug, arching in a stretch up onto your toes. Your ankles pop, and you almost fall off the fridge door, shuffling to catch yourself with a grunt. Your eyes flutter, flicking all over like you're trying to get your bearings once more, like you're struggling to focus on any one thing before you finally settle.

“Just get yourself off,” Spike snaps at you, shaking his head and trying to ignore the images that flash in his head of you touching yourself and moaning. He scoffs and rubs his creased forehead. He _really_ needs that cigarette now.

“Tried that, chief,” you admit, holding a strange note of humored finality that makes Spike’s stomach flip. "Can't seem to get there on my own. And I don't think doctors are allowed to give you orgasms as treatment anymore." You laugh, a drunken sound at your own stupid comment. Spike says your name in a disapproving tone, but his lips tug in wry amusement, reluctantly pulling wider when you waggle your brows at him.

He sweeps his hands out in a motion of finality. "No. Stop trying to make me laugh. This is serious! We don't know what's going on. Let's go sit in the living room, figure out a plan, then I'll go tell Jet we’re--"

You finally stand, swaying backwards to take another drink of water. Spike is momentarily distracted by the stream of water that rolls down your chin, across your already damp front, gluing thin fabric to your naked chest. He’s so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice you leaning back dangerously far, your balance thrown off by your intoxication.

Spike jumps forward when the fridge door swings in after you, popping you in the gut and pushing you off your already precariously balanced legs. You choke, stumble, water jug hitting the ground with a splash that you slip in. Your skin is so hot and so damp that Spike almost doesn’t catch you, his scarred up arms and chest flexing to ease your fall.

Or so he would have liked if he didn’t slip, too, bare feet going right out from under him.

He lands on his back with a slick slap and a grunt of pain, a whole other human body landing right on top of him and knocking the breath out of his lungs.

There's an intense difference in temperature between the icy cold water under his back and your feverish body on top of him, but he finds it hard to care about the chill when you're moaning, nuzzling and arching across his chest. You're crawling your way over him, dragging your tits and pussy against his front, panting hard into the crook of his neck, each one ending in a little whimper.

"Spike…" Your voice cracks, your hands grip at his biceps, and he suddenly realizes the precarious situation he's in with another mindless hump of your clothed clit across his abs, panties and thighs soaked with your desire, leaving a cooling smear behind.

He stutters your name and clamps his hands down on your hips. He shuts his eyes quickly, blocking out the first glimpse of your teary, desperate gaze. A look that makes a familiar coil in his gut tighten with need. "Stop."

You sound like you're about to cry. "Spike, I-I need you to fuck me. I _need_ it, oh my god, please? Please?" You grip his wrist, try to pull him away as you struggle to move against him. The movement rubs and squishes your tits against his chest, and your moan is syrupy saccharine.

He takes a meditative breath, or tries to. It's hard when you're begging so sweet in his ear, the weight of your chest against his exposing just how hard your nipples are. Your wet shirt is caught between your chest and his, pulling down, the soft, hot skin of your breasts pressed against him. He feels your thighs clench in a shiver to his sides, his grip unwavering even though he's rather amazed and horrendously curious when he can feel another warm bout of wetness seep through your panties against his skin.

His cock throbs in response, and he gasps when your warm mouth smears across his jaw, moaning breath cooling across the spit you leave behind. He snatches a handful of your hair, drags your head back to give you a half-hearted glare, a glare you miss because your eyes roll back in their sockets like you've briefly transcended to another plane entirely, your nails dragging down his bare chest, your whole body shaking. Spike hates that he's panting too, hates that he chokes on whatever reprimand he had at the ready to watch you keen his name, hates how resolve-shattering the heavy, watery, pupil-blown look of need you give him is when you finally relax enough to focus on him.

"I'm so fucking wet for you," you breathe, freed hips dragging down his belly to bump across the hard curve of his dick against the front of his sweats. Your pussy feels hot, even through the layers of clothing, and Spike hisses, pinching his eyes shut, revelling just for a moment--just for a second--in your desperation for him. "M'always wet for you, Spike--"

He grits his teeth and jerks you forward. You gasp, hands slipping across his chest, knees gliding in water to precariously balance you on his body to keep you away from both his dick and his mouth.

"You need to stop." He snarls, chest heaving under yours. His fingers flex in your hair, into the muscle of your quivering thigh. "Get it together."

Your face crumples, eyes squeezing shut with a whine. Spike watches you struggle, gnaws on his bottom lip as your hands wander over his chest and arms, gripping and feeling him. A mixture of anger and lust are swirling low in his belly. He hates that you're suffering, hates watching the beginnings of tears roll slowly down one cheek and marring your pretty face. But he simply can't allow himself to give in. Spike can't hurt another person he cares about.

He watches, transfixed as you shake and compose yourself with uneven breathes and little sniffles. All the while he remains entirely unmoving despite the way his skin pebbles into goosebumps under your appreciative touch, almost digs his head back into the floor to keep himself distanced from you.

"Spike?" Your voice is reedy and vulnerable, ever so delicate with your altered state.

Spike gulps heavy, watching your eyes peel open. Another tear slinks down across your other cheek, and drips onto his bare chest. "Y-Yeah?"

Shaky damp fingers trace down his chest, across the scars that litter his body. He can’t help the jolt that rushes through him, digging his fingers into the plump fat of your thigh in warning. It doesn’t seem to deter you, but your hand comes to rest just below his racing heart, curled around his ribs to feel them expand with his heavy breaths.

“Um…” You shut your eyes, opening them slowly to look up at him. Your pupils are massive and black, only a sliver of your iris visible. You’re mindlessly tracing your fingers all over his skin, up and around the textured skin of his nipple, feeling around the topography of his pectorals. Spike clenches his jaw and doesn’t try to stop you. He doesn’t have the hands for it if he’s going to keep you from rocking your body against his and your mouth off of him.

It's fucking torture.

You take a deep breath, and he can’t help glancing down. Your tits have completely fallen out of your top, the skimpy straps dropping near your elbows. Your pretty nipples rest squished against him, and they’re very soft. He can see the shine of water or sweat or both that’s gathered in between them, makes them shine in the faint light of the still open fridge behind you. He swallows thick, not doing a good job of banishing the thought of sucking one and then the other into his mouth.

“I know…” His eyes jump back up to your face. Your lashes are clumped together from tears of frustration, eyes closed as you gather yourself. You wobble a little unsteady on your knees, your legs just giving out entirely. Spike’s arm shakes and he lowers you against him, your weight barely anything compared to your radiating heat. “I know...you aren’t attracted to me. I know this is probably very inconvenient for you. B-But--”

You take a shuddering breath, hips rolling across his abdomen. His hand rests broad and unmoving, passively hovering just against your flexing thigh, feels your skin slide under his palm til his fingers curve naturally to the plush globe of your ass, feeling the sweat-damp edge of your cotton panties bump his fingers. The touch sends a lightning bolt up his arm and straight to his heart.

“But I’ve liked you for a w-while now. Um. Not just because you’re attractive. You’re very attractive, don’t get me wrong, but, uh. I think you’re funny. A-And considerate. And I--” You moan, wiggle around on top of him, dig your nails into his flank until he shivers, his fingers slipping in sweat along the curve of your spine. Your eyes flutter open to look down at him, throat bobbing with a clicking sound. “-- _fuck_ , I think about you a lot. In-In ways I kn-know you don’t think about me, and I really...I feel so hot and so s-sensitive, Spike, and you feel so g-good--”

You sniffle, letting out a frustrated sound, pushing yourself against him. His arm falls when you bend down despite how taut his grip is on your hair. It's either let you fall or hurt you, and you're already hurting. Spike lets you drop your forehead against his chest, curling up to shake on top of him.

“Fuck,” Spike mutters, lifting both of his hands to his face. He rubs his eyes, only to pause. His hands smell like you, smell absolutely mouth watering from the scent of your sweat that’s caught between his fingers and under his nails. Your confession whirls in his head, the affirmation of your reciprocated and terrifying feelings coming in all the wrong ways and at the wrong time.

Spike quickly snuffs those thoughts away. He tugs his own hair in an attempt to ground himself. "Okay, l-listen. This. This isn't okay, you know that? You're all fucked up. Not in your right mind, and I--" 

You’re mumbling out sloppy little apologies against his neck, thoughtlessly rocking and grinding your hips across his abs. He can feel the hard little bump of your clit dragging back and forth through your wet panties. He chokes on his next inhale, his cock flexing against the confines of his pants, knees spreading wider with the unconscious instinct to thrust back.

"F-Fuck," he hisses out, hands snagging into your hips again, squeezing your soft flesh. You cry, gripping his bulging biceps when they successfully keep you from moving any more. "God! Chill out!"

"I can't!" You slur, breath coming uneven and quick, limp against him to rub all against his chest like a cat. "I can't, I can't, I--"

"You need to cum, right?" The question comes out with a quivering note. He’s sure you can feel his heart racing just as much as you can hear it, the thud of it so heavy with anticipation against his ribs it almost hurts.

"Yes, please, Spike, just one, please--" Your breath puffs hot across the tears that have smeared across his chest. He cuts you off with a sudden movement, using his hips to roll you over until you're flopped on the floor beneath him, your limbs splaying out around you. His hips easily fall between your thighs.

His eyes meet yours, nose to nose, one of his elbows propping him up above you. You shiver against the floor, limbs crawling back around him, teary eyes fluttering with drowsy desire. He gulps, frowning as he looks you over. Your skin still shines with dewy heat, and his mouth drops open, licking his lips to tame the desire to drag his tongue up between your cleavage to taste your sweat.

Spike gives a first tentative roll of his hips. He stares, wide-eyed and entranced as your eyes actually roll back, tensing when your nails dig into his skin and grasp him painfully tight. Your thighs clench and loosen around his middle with little shocks of pleasure that run through you with every drag of his length across your ruined panties, across your drenched pussy. He can feel it seep through his sweats, fisting his hands on either side of your head when your slick soaks through so much that the fabric is sticking uncomfortably to the shape of his cock, now hardened entirely and aching against you.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, stretching himself over you. He presses your twitching and squirming body down against the floor as tight as possible, coming nose to nose with you, a hair's breadth away from kissing you. “How--What the fuck? You’re so fucking _wet_.”

“Yeah,” you whimper, humping up without any real rhythm against him. Spike keeps his pace slow and steady, watching your eyes flutter without being able to focus on anything. He rocks you against the floor, the curves and fat of your body allowing for him to bounce you gently against his motions. It’s a mouthwatering sight, to see your breasts rock where they droop out of your top, to see the press of your ass out beneath your combined weight pressing you into the metal.

You suddenly grimace and wiggle out of his pace, and he stops, watching you swallow. “I-It hurts, I...I need them off, off--”

Spike pulls back immediately, only to watch in an absolute stupor as you manage to fumble and wiggle your way out of your panties. A wet sound comes from you peeling the gusset off your body, baring your glossy, puffy folds entirely for him to see in the wane light of the bare fridge bulb. He can’t help staring, feeling actual saliva gather in his mouth when you spread your legs and grab at him again. Dumbly, he drops his hips a second time against you, giving an upward grind against your bare cunt with the dark, drenched spot of fabric on his cock. He can fucking feel the petal-like cradle of your body squish and rub against him, so much more apparent now. His cock flexes against you, and you purr, squeezing him so hard with your limbs he winces.

"Spike…!" He grits his teeth, swirls his hips down against yours. You gasp, a hand scrabbling across the floor for...for something, and without thinking Spike sweeps his hand up to capture the back of it. His long fingers weave through yours, letting you grip down tight around them, and he squeezes back, pressing your fist and his into a puddle of water above you. You rasp his name again, against the five o’clock shadow beginning to grow on his chin, the brush of your lips burning so bright his mouth drops open, the muscles in his neck tightening as if in preparation to bend and kiss you.

"What, sweetheart?" He pants across your lips, resting his forehead on your shoulder, resisting his temptation with all of his might. “Tell me.”

You both pant and rock for a moment in a mindless rut, and Spike braces himself for whatever tortured desire he knows you'll confess to him now. He knows it'll crack and beat against his already broken defense, that falls and degrades further and further with each slick drag of his hips against you, each drunk, mindless sound and word from your swollen lips.

“You feel so fuckin’ good.” You sound so fucked out already, just from him grinding his clothed cock down on your bare pussy. Your other hand skims through his curls, petting at his cheek and the back of his neck, pulling on his hair, and he feels your cheek lean into his warm temple, your legs squeezing tight around his waist. “Spike? Will...Will you kiss me? Please?” You scratch at his scalp, tug gently at his hair again.

God, has he thought about kissing you. Kissing you deeply, gently, when you laugh, when you pout. He didn’t expect his first time ever tasting your mouth being when you’re fucked out and begging for it, when you’re rolling out of your mind and on the edge of cumming beneath him on the kitchen floor of the Bebop because you’re all fucked up.

And yet it still feels perfect. Messy and clumsy at first, his free hand pushing against your cheek to guide your lips while your eyes struggle to open, but as soon as he slants his mouth across yours, you moan and press back. It evolves into a sultry, slow, sucking kiss across your lips and his tongue, and his cock twitches again, the tip pressed uncomfortably into the hook of wet sweats catching on your clit.

You spasm with a cry, body curling in against the weight of his, and he shushes you softly, sweetly, buffers the back of your head when you drop back carelessly, fingers tangling in wet hair.

“Oh, baby, you’re okay,” he breathes, forehead furrowed against yours. “Just relax for me, you’re doing so good.

Your eyes peek open, hot tears falling free from the corners to gaze up at him. All your limbs _squeeze_ him again, fingers digging into the back of his hand where he presses it still into the floor above you, and you arch and grit your teeth so hard with the next rolling grind of his body into yours that a pained sound cracks from your throat before you gasp a heavy breath, your damp tits catching against his chest.

“Spike.” Your voice shakes. “Sp-Spike I’m...I’m not gonna cum, I’m not gonna cum like th-this, I can’t--”

His heart stutters in his chest, his nose slipping through your tears on your cheek. “You can, baby, you just... _fuck_ , you just have to relax for me, okay?”

But you’re shaking your head, whining and quaking hard against the floor despite his weight upon you. “No, I can’t, I--s’not coming, I can feel it but it’s not fucking _coming_.”

Spike groans, his thrusts halting. He lets his head fall beside yours on the cold kitchen floor, panting into your warm shoulder. You whine and pull at his hair and bounce your hips up into his. He can feel his own frustrations rising. He’s so hard it _hurts_ , and not unlike your own pain with your panties the wet drag of his sweats on his dick is starting to sting.

You squeeze his hand, and Spike closes his eyes, chewing on the words in his mouth that he knows will kick the floor out from under him. Whatever sort of mental defenses he had left against your needs won’t even matter anymore.

“Spike!” Your panicky voice, the fast race of your heart against his chest, your concerningly quick breaths.

“What do you want?” He growls, shifting up. You cry when he pushes up onto his knees, your fucked-out body unable to hold onto him when he lifts his broad torso up and off of you, leaving him kneeling between your butterflied knees, his cock hanging hard and insistent against the front of his sweats. He leans over you on his hands, frown on his face while he glares down at your teary, fluttering gaze. He still holds your hand, pressed into the floor by your cheek, and you bump your temple into it, going limp while you pant. “Huh? What the fuck do you want?”

“Fuck me,” you drawl, plead, beg again. Your body arches before your wet back slaps against the floor again, your hips now free to roll back and forth, your tits swaying with the restless motions of your body. “Fuck me, Spike! I--I need to cum!”

“And you can’t cum like this?” He croaks, reaching between your thighs to drag his fingers over your pussy. It’s _hot_ , silky and swollen, and your body quakes with his touch, your breath increasing and your hips squirming wildly. God, you feel like hot silk, slick perfectly ebbing the rough touch of his fingers over your clit and twitching hole. He knows he’d just slide right the fuck in if he tried, and the thought makes him woozy.

“N-No,” you sob, your free hand dragging over your eyes, your lips pressing together in a wobbly frown he easily recognizes as emotional overload.

He curses quietly, guilt for his own frustration rearing its head dowsing whatever fire was left in him. He leans over you, sighing and kissing your cheek, moving your hand so both of your hands are weaved with one of his, gently pressed just above your head.

“Hey, _shh_ ,” he whispers, kissing down to your ear, putting his hand back between your legs, stroking slow and tender over your throbbing clit. You hiccup and hump against him, breaths beginning to steady out, but still pinched with your own stress and need.

Spike’s mouth burns with his next words, whispered low and rumbling just for you. “You want me to fuck you?” His cock aches, twitching against his sweats.

You whimper and nod, twisting your head to suck weak kisses against his neck. “Sp-Spike, I need you to fuck me. Th-They said...They said only the people having sex--”

“No, don’t think about that,” he orders softly, assuredly, pulling his face from your neck to give you a tender look. You blink up at him, nodding and panting, and Spike can ignore how delectable you look grinding your pussy down on his palm to comfort you. “Nothing bad is gonna happen to you, okay? I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

You keen, brow furrowing, and Spike hums when your hips rock against him with his words.

“I’m kinda scared,” you whisper, seemingly having gathered a moment of clearheadedness to convey your mixed up emotions. “Spike, I--”

He slowly frees your hands to cup your cheek, drawing your wide-pupil stare to his once more. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you, you hear me?” He waits for you to nod before leaning closer, his nose brushing yours. “I’m gonna make you feel good, and I’m gonna help you through this how you need it, and you’re not gonna worry about a single fucking thing while we’re at it. Alright?”

You moan again, your body shivering and arching into his, nodding again with a little more vigor. Spike leans in to kiss you again, his heart thudding heavy and anxious against his ribs.

“Please,” you moan mindlessly into his kiss, muffled and fumbled with each pluck of his lips against yours. “Please take care of me, Spike, please. Need it. Need you so bad. I’ve needed you for so fucking long.”

“C’mere,” he grunts, looping your arms around his neck. “Grab onto me. Good girl.” He can feel just how weak your muscles are, like you’ve pushed yourself to the limit physically. They shake in your effort to cling to him, and he hooks his arms under you, using his strength to shift up into a kneel. As warm as you are, he feels the chill of the cool water on his arms and back starting to get to him, and he’s concerned about your own body temperature in your soaked shirt and panties. It gives him the idea to drag the half-emptied jug of water towards him and hook it with two fingers to bring with him, and the way the movement rocks your limp body almost has you slipping out of his grip. You both gasp and catch ahold of each other, startling a laugh from you.

“Oh, fuck,” you croak against his shoulder, laughing drunkenly, head lulling against his. “That...m’all dizzy, sorry.”

Spike huffs in amusement, carefully shifting onto his knees and standing slowly. “Just hold on, okay? We’re going to my room. It’s closer.” You nod against his neck, nuzzling in closer, and Spike gives you a squeeze that makes you moan.

Spike stares down for one last second at the mess on the floor, spotting your panties discarded and drenched. Nimply, he uses his foot to pick them up, strong arm keeping you against him while he catches the cold fabric and shoves them into his pocket. And then he hitches you back up against him and turns his back on what will absolutely have Jet pissed in the morning, deftly kicking the fridge door closed and walking through the dark living room of the ship and towards the far hallway.

His priority is you, is your comfort, is the way your mouth has inevitably found it’s way back to his skin in a slow, suctioning kiss.

His feet pad quickly down the hall. Beneath his hand on your back, he can feel how quick your heart is still beating, and he can feel the heat radiating off of you. You’re starting to wiggle again, getting restless after your moment of lucidity, and he takes a deep, calming breath when you sink your teeth against his jugular with a groan, sucking another bruise into his neck.

“Please, just fuck me, please, I don’t care where,” you grit out in his ear, hugging him like a goddamn koala. His fingers slip in the wet slick of your arousal where he supports your thigh. Your pussy slips and slides across his abs, and he can feel just how fucking _hot_ it feels. He almost stumbles in his stride down the hall to his little storage closet of a room at the thought of how it’ll feel to absolutely melt with his cock up inside you.

Your knees shuffle up his sides, your mouth sucking and huffing into his neck and shoulder, hips twitching uncontrollably. “ _Spike…!_ ”

He pops a smack against your ass before he really thinks about it. You gasp, pulling away from his stinging neck to give him a shocked look, though your blown out pupils and heavy lids really don’t help you much. He shoots you a look of warning back, digging his fingers into the fat of your ass after the slap.

“Stop fucking whining,” he growls, hitching you up further against him. It’s easy when your leaking pussy makes the glide of your stomach across his feel like silk. “I’m gonna fuck you in my bed or not at all, you understand?” It’s an empty threat. He’s going to fuck you no matter what, but he’d _prefer_ if it was in his bed.

You nod quickly, leaning down to kiss him clumsily, mumbling an apology against his cheek. The little storage closet converted into a tiny room isn’t all that far away, though it might feel like it for you, and soon he’s slapping the door open, closing it on its own behind him, and bathing you both in darkness.

There’s really only a bed in here, down on the floor and taking up most of the space. Carefully, Spike kneels, and with an easy tug, your legs come undone around him, plopping you down on your ass.

He thrusts the jug into your face. “Drink. Before we do anything, you need more water.”

You don’t argue, and he supports the bottom of the perspiring plastic while you tilt it back and gulp it down. When he’s satisfied, he takes it from you and puts it on the floor by the foot of the bed, rewarding you with a short, rough kiss that he breaks before you thoroughly distract him.

Spike licks the cool water he pulled from your lips off his own, his heart starting to beat a little faster. “Shirt off,” he orders, peeling the fabric up and off you when you lift your arms for him, letting it land with a wet slap on his floor. You collapse back on his messy sheets with a sigh, and Spike watches as you wiggle and roll about in your nudity, moaning softly and getting as comfortable as you can, dragging his bedding up and over you in a sloppy attempt to warm up despite the fact you’re boiling.

“Spike,” you hiccup, reaching for him, teary eyes peering past the sheets pulled to your nose. “Please come cuddle me?”

_It’s gonna be way more than cuddling, and you both know it._

He blows out a slow breath, rising again to take his pants off. His cock is still hard, still sensitive, and all of you suddenly feels like silk as he spoons up against your side, cupping your waist to pull you closer, leaning down to kiss you.

Spike isn’t a stranger to drugs or drug use. Your symptoms aren’t so unusual from what he’s seen before, or what he’s felt before. You arch and shiver and whimper with each gentle stroke of his hand down your body, like it’s the most intense feeling you’ve ever experienced. Your brow seems permanently creased with pleasure and overstimulated nerves, never finding a moment of peace in your constantly wiggling and grabbing and panting. He leans down to kiss you, tasting sweat on your lips, feeling it where his fingertips explore the warmth beneath your breasts, down over your stomach and between your thighs.

“S’too much!” You suddenly gasp, grasping his hand in yours, burying your face in his chest. You stull clutch onto him, moaning in tortured frustration. Spike lets you sit for a long moment, nose buried in your hair and as still as he can be. His cock throbs against your hip, drips and smears against your belly with your rocking side to side, even while he shushes you softly, attempting to ease your discomfort.

“I need to cum,” you whisper to him, tilting your head back to press sloppy kisses against his jaw. He tilts his head down, nose brushing yours, and kisses you back. Your lips vibrate, sinking flat and weak beneath him when his lips mesh with yours, barely able to cradle his face. He slowly pushes the covers away, crawling over you, letting the dangerous heat escape your body.

“Yeah?” He croons, hoarse and soft against your pliant mouth, using his knees to part your limp legs. His cock drags across your stomach, hot and achy. You nod, your eyes never having opened since you laid back on his bed. “You want me to help?” His question elicits a moan from you, and his hips twitch forward against you with the sound, another achy throb letting a cool drip of precum ooze down onto your belly.

“I need it,” you pant, head dropping back, sweating palms still holding his face, chanting those words in a soft, drunken whisper, over and over mixed with his name and trembling thighs squeezing his hips. Spike hums, kissing down your breasts, baring an arm around your middle when you arch as he drags his tongue around your nipples, sucks and kisses gently to your water and sweat slick skin. You whimper and thrust your hips against him, wiggling with every kiss, his cock pinned and leaking between you.

He does it before he even really thinks about it. Spike shifts where he lies, drags his hand through your folds to feel just how ready you are. He already knows you’re wet, and yet he still balks at the way slippery slick has trailed out of you and spread all over the crease of your ass cheeks, along your thighs and groin, up along your mons.

He pulls his hand back, long viscous strands of translucent arousal pulling away, and pops his fingers into his mouth before he can think if it's a bad idea or not.

“Fuck,” he moans around his fingers. “You taste _good_.”

“Yeah?” Your voice is high and breathy, your body shuffling restlessly in his sheets. “You like it? You like me?”

“Yeah, I do,” he groans, sucking up whatever was left on his fingers before he kisses you again, his fingers returning to your poor, tender, needy pussy. “Like you a lot.” Your chest is rising and falling quickly, concerningly fast, and Spike hushes you softly, petting over your sweat-damp sternum, feeling the race of your heart.

“Relax,” he whispers again, kissing down your chest, petting over your diaphragm. “Breathe, baby. Breathe for me.” He swallows thick and takes a deep breath, one you try to mirror. He sighs against your stomach, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting you again. He can _smell_ you, strong and musky and mouthwatering. He gulps down spit, brow furrowing against your belly the lower he goes, the more eager he gets.

He sucks kisses against your hips and beneath your bellybutton as he continues to center himself with his own breaths, but it doesn’t seem to be working as well for you. Your hands fist and tug at his hair, you wiggle around beneath him, your chest hitching with uneven pants.

His breath hitches when his parted lips glide through your slick before he expects it. It’s spread all the way up over your mound, into the crease of your thighs. You’re a _mess_ , and he eagerly presses his face down against you, opening his mouth to suck gently at any and all of your arousal he can get. He gets a mouthful of not just your taste, but the humid heat of your desire, and groans low against your skin.

You gasp and yank at his hair. He winces and reaches up to grasp your wrists. “Sp-Spike, holy _fuck_ ,” you spit, thighs tightly shut beneath him, sliding together as you rub them back and forth. His tongue swirls around on your skin, easily able to press down between the y-shape of your thighs and pussy with how wet you are, chin squelching through pooling slick, and you choke on a sound, your body curling up beneath him.

You suddenly _push_ his head down, and Spike goes eagerly. He opens his mouth up wide with a quick, deep inhale through his nose, the arm he’d been steadily working up between your calves and knees flexing to push a weak leg out across his bed. Heat blooms across his chin as the folds of your pussy part for him, and he groans loud and deep as his first lick across your puffy cunt gives him almost a mouthful of warm, sticky slick to swallow. The sucking appreciation of his mouth pulls a sob from you, your hips jolting up and back with overstimulated, indecisive movements.

You shake and try to push him away. He doesn’t let you, strong enough to push deeper against you, broad enough to keep your legs from closing, long fingers scooping up what’s dripped from you to press deep up inside you. His name rings through his tiny room, your hips squirming in a circle as he lodges two fingers into you up to the knuckle. You’re so fucking hot inside, so wet they go in without issue, but you’re squeezing so tight around them his head spins at the thought that he doesn’t know if his cock will fit.

It’s _loud_ as he drags and thrusts his fingers slowly in and out of you. Loud from how wet you are, loud from the way he sucks and licks and hums against your clit and folds, loud with how you wail and hump up against his face and shift desperately against his bed. He would be scared of waking up anyone else on the ship if he hadn’t been basically banished to storage upon his return, and so he helps you get it out, lets you keen and cry, moans with you and fingerfucks you til you’re making a mess of his covers, of his neck, of his wrist and your thighs.

“Spike, oh _fuck_ , Spike!” You call for him, gritting your teeth, half breathless and weary, weak and trilling. He doesn’t answer, just gently presses his fingers back and forth against that swollen spot inside you, swirls his tongue over the hard twitching bundle of nerves of your poor achy clit, gets lost in your taste and just how slick you are, and he feels his heart skip a beat and his cock twitch when your pussy clamps sporadically upon him.

“Oh, fuck I’m gonna cum, don’t stop, don’t stop!” You squeal, almost kneeing him in the face when you attempt to twist in his grip. Spike slurps and swirls your clit with his tongue, two fingertips stroking in little circles of their own on that spot within you, and he really shouldn’t be surprised when you clamp so tight and so sudden that you squirt. It spills past the sloppy seal of his lips suctioned to the top of your slit around your clit, drips down his wrist and soaks his bed. You’re crying and pushing your hips up with each tight throb around his fingers, each twitch of your pussy against his tongue, and Spike drinks you down eagerly, moaning and squeezing his arm around your stomach in an attempt to ground you, his cock twitching against the sheets.

He pulls away with a swallow, peering down in the dark as he drags his fingers from inside you. You plead him not to pull them out, but he ignores you, watching your pussy cling to him just as desperately as your useless hands pat and tug at him, how you whisper _no, put it back, don’t stop_ , fat tears of barely sated frustration rolling down your cheeks when he glances up at your tortured face.

He crawls up over you, gripping your jaw with his wet hand, tugging your pouting mouth to his. “I’ll make you cum again, I promise,” he mumbles against your lips, sloppy kiss full of spit and heat and slick. It makes his head spin, and his fingers itch to grab and tug at your body, pull you close and sink into you. There’s a strange desperation that feels less controlled now running through his blood.

“Put it in,” you whisper against his mouth while you hump against the gentle touch of his fingers on your clit, teary eyes barely opening to meet his in the darkness of his tiny room. “ _Spike_ , put it _in_. I can’t wait anymore!” Your nails feel good dragging down his back again, and he unnecessarily pushes on your splayed knees to keep them wide open. “Hurts, Spike!”

The glide of his flushed cock through your swollen folds--finally, _finally_ skin to skin--has a shuddering moan escaping the man above you. He swallows thick, eyes glued to the web of thick arousal that pulls away against his dick when he peels it from your leaking center. His cock is weeping already, and when he tugs at his length, the combined fluids enough to already have him ready to be inside you.

He’s surprised to find you’re still so resistant after all his attention and your desperation. He glances up at you, his mouth hanging as he grinds the flared tip of his dick against your clenching hole. “Baby, you have to relax,” he rasps, petting your stomach and thighs. “Take a deep breath for me or I can’t b-be inside you.”

You slur something about him just shoving it in, and Spike blinks away stars at the rush of blood to his cock, hunching over you with the clench. You seem to wrangle some sort of control and slowly inhale. Spike inches forward, the lava-like heat and pooling of your insides squelching and overwhelming.

You whine and quake so hard away from the feeling his big hands squeeze into your waist. “Don’t stop!” You cry despite your sensitivity, ankles hooking around his thighs to press him closer.

The shining head of his dick chases your pussy, and in a show of frustration, Spike pushes forward harder than he means to. The ridges of his cockhead squeeze through the initial opening, and you both cry out.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck!” You’re pushing at his chest, clenching your thighs at his hips, head pressed back into his mattress in a pretty arch. Tears are reflecting off your cheeks with what little light is in his dark room, and Spike has a moment of concerned clarity.

“D-Do you need me to wa--”

“No!” Though your hands are pushing at him, leaving burning scrapes down his chest, your tense legs and the hug of your pussy doesn’t let him pull back without it feeling like he might pass out from how sensitive he’s suddenly become. “Please don’t, please don’t take it away from me!”

Spike feels a wave of weakness wash over him, moaning jagged in his chest and lurching forward with trembling thighs. His cock spreads you wide, eases up in a long, unforgiving stroke. The deeper he goes the louder you get, an almost animalistic sound leaving you as you snap your limbs around him not unlike how you’d been on the kitchen floor, and Spike is more than happy to just lie with his weight pressing your squirming form beneath him, lust making it hard to even want to move from the initial mind blowing stimulation of your gooey, soft, wet cunt.

He finds himself shushing you again, pressing kisses to your ear, petting hair from your sweating forehead. You continue to whine his name, leave marks across his back, spasming your insides with upward humps that make it hard to breathe, like his lungs are in his cock.

Soon it becomes too much to even stay still. “M’gonna move,” he whispers, tasting your sweat and tears on your cheek. “Okay? Is that okay?” He’s still petting your face and hair, nuzzling against your ear in an effort to not just calm you down, but to calm his own frazzled nerves as well. He’s not an inexperienced man. It’s been a while, sure, but sex hasn’t...it’s _never_ felt like _this_.

You don’t answer, and Spike finds he can’t wait anymore. He shifts his knees, spreading them wider. He doesn’t really intend to pull his torso up, more than pleased to feel your soft curves glued to his harder, scarred planes. His hips twitch up and back just a little as he sets his knees wide on either side of your hips, prepared to draw back slowly, entirely, planning to fill you up again.

Your cry is loud in his ear, body coiling like a snake around his with the smallest withdrawal. Your weakened legs suddenly twist around him like a constrictor, your face in his neck. “Ohmygodmgonnacum!”

Spike registers your anxious exclamation a half second after his body feels the wild, tightening snap of your cunt down on his cock. A ragged groan is ripped from him out of surprise, gritting his teeth into your shoulder as you cum on his cock for the first time. Belatedly, he realizes you’ve squirted all over his heaving abdomen, your shaking thighs and his dripping with your release. You squeeze down so tight he has to pull back, half his length pushed out from inside you.

You gasp like you’ve been holding your breath, and Spike lets his spine go lax, lets you drag him back inside you. And like a rope that’s been stressed and sliced and yanked on all night, his already frayed self-control snaps.

It’s wet and gushy, the sound of his hips and balls against the wet backs of your thighs. You sob, push and pull at him as he sets a pace that’s not at all fast or aggressive. If anything it’s lazy and stunted because the first few thrusts have his eyes rolling, too, his arms giving out with the strain. His balls, squishing up against your ass again and again, already feel heavy with his impending orgasm, and it doesn’t help when your head rolls from one side to the other and your nose bumps his from when he’d pressed his face to your temple, the corner of your lips meeting his. Like two magnets, he finds himself locked into another heated, uncoordinated, panting kiss. A sound fills his ears, and he realizes it’s a keening, low, struggling moan from his own throat, barely muffled and swallowed by your mouth.

That’s when the realization hits him. He has to wonder if there's a transitive property to the drug, if he's gotten some kind of secondhand exposure from licking up your sweat and cum, from drenching his cock in your pussy, from kissing you fiercely. He feels ravenous, so needy for you, and you meet him with just as much vigor and desire.

That has to be it, there's no other explanation. It has to be it, or he'll lose his fucking mind knowing you've always felt this good, that--that you--

“You,” he’s breathless, feels woozy, brows scrunching against yours. “You feel so good, sweetheart.”

You wiggle under his oppressive weight and strength. Even with how much you’ve weakened him, he still overpowers you to keep you still, to keep you right where you both want to be even if it feels like too much.

You sob against his confession, fingers flexing into his hunched shoulder blades. Spike flicks open heavy eyes he didn’t even realize he’d closed, finding your glassy, watery gaze already watching him again. Your pupils are still blown wide, and there’s an agonized expression on your face that matches the way your heart races against his chest, matching the frenzied beat of his own.

“Always wanna make you feel good,” you hiss through clenched teeth. Spikes throat clicks with a desperate swallow, throat dry from his heavy breathing. “Y-You’re so--so _sweet_ to me, Sp-Spike, I--”

He wouldn’t ever categorize the primal, clumsy, overwhelming fucking, the loud wet smacks of your pussy sucking his cock back in, the way he’s so close to filling you up, giving you his cum, as deep, as deep, as deep as he can fucking get it _sweet_ by any fucking means, and yet it cuts him deep. Deep into his chest and his belly and pulls the air from his lungs in rasping, relieved groans.

He feels drunk lying across you and simply taking, but you’re the same. You can barely hold onto him anymore, arms curled limp around his head, where he’s tucked his face into your neck, legs fallen out and bent up on either side of you, swaying with his thrusts. He has full range now, able to pull out far if he wanted to, but the clutch of your insides makes it difficult to even get more than halfway out before he _has_ to push back in.

You’re whispering mindlessly across any of his skin you can reach with your mouth. “Want your cum, want it, want it in me--” Spike groans, grinding up as deep as he can get with each thrust, dragging his abdomen across the hard bud of your clit over and over, hoping to push against that spot inside you that makes your whole body twitch every time the head of his cock drags over it.

It spills over faster than he expects. A hot flush tingles down his chest from his face, pressing his nose against yours as he drills into with short, choppy thrusts. He gasps your name, hips curling in, and the fact you’re _begging for it_ , have been begging for it, have finally cum a few times for him, allows him to sink his whole wait against you, groaning and stiffening and feeling the first hot rops of his spend gush inside you.

It feels perfect, he’s almost forgotten what it was like to cum inside someone like this. The sounds of his feeble, little thrusts that cum with each throb of his balls and cock should be embarrassing, but he revels in the feeling. You gasp and kiss him, and he cradles your face as he lets himself enjoy the high of release with you, and the way his muscles relax and how you welcome his weight on you, your thighs twitching around his middle like each thick spurt of cum feels good on it’s own.

“Oh fuck,” you suddenly sigh, blinking up at him with wide, bright eyes. “Oh god, I--”

He pets your hair back from your sweating face, lets you clutch at him again. He sighs and pants, resting his forehead on yours while giving you a drowsy look. “S’it feel better?”

“Yes,” you sigh. He can feel the way the tightness inside you is easing up. Like his cum somehow was a balm to whatever was hurting you so bad. You’re still warm and wet and so, so sensitive, but it’s not nearly choking his cock anymore, doesn’t seem as nearly painful as it is arousing anymore. The thought makes his dick twitch and something like pride well in his broad chest against yours.

You pull at his hips, and he drags his dick out, cum spilling out after him, and pushes back in. His heart jumps with the realization that he’s not feeling as satisfied as he thought, that he needs to fuck you more, that he needs to _give you more_.

Spike kisses you with a grunt, his thrusts languid and easy now, despite the overwhelming urge to continue when after everything you both should be spent.

_Yeah, he’s definitely gotten some kind of secondhand exposure._

You laugh, a little hysterical sound, and Spike feels his own stiff shoulders from his own stress begin to unwind with every thrust. He feels like he can see a twinkle of _you_ coming back, no longer so overtaken by whatever you’d been drugged with.

“You want more?” He breathes against your swollen lips.

You moan so sweetly, fresh tears leaking from your steadily closing eyes as you rock up against him, your touch trembling down his back. “Please? Please, Spike? More?”

A shaky groan escapes him, the wet squelch and slap of his hips into your wet, hot body all the more encouraging.

How can he say no to you?

 _Again_ , it doesn’t take you long to cum. He thrusts easy and slow and sucks kisses across your mouth and neck, stroking along your sweating skin and curling over you protectively. You sob and whine beautifully for him, cling to him and let him rock your body down into his mattress until you’re quaking and cumming and pushing his cum out with how tight you squeeze on him.

“No, no, want more,” you _weep_ for it, face twisted up and teeth bared, clawing at his back. Spike squishes you down and grunts with each snap of his hips until he’s spilling into you again, until his head spins and he’s gasping and quivering himself, unloading another heavy round of cum inside you.

After a time that he has no concept of, of just fucking and kissing and cumming with each other, the sensitivity has waned. He just feels tipsy. You certainly seem much more cognizant, no longer simply letting him fuck you because you have to, but participating. Pulling his hair, stroking the aching lines and crescent moons your nails left in his skin, pushing your hips up into his with less harried desperation and more swiveling, rolling precision.

He's glad he has you in his bed, pressed tight to his mattress with all his broad weight, pistoning into the hot, wet squeeze of your body. You moan and whine for him with each thrust, legs snagged so tight around his middle he can't pull out all the way. It turns his pace quick, borderline rough with his need for you and the way you throw your hips back into his, the loud clap filling the space between your moans and his.

Spike isn’t sure if you both actually slept. It feels like a fever dream, brief periods of an exhausted haze interspersed between sloppy, desperate, agonizingly pleasurable rounds of fucking. He knows he woke up a few times to you sucking or riding his cock, and woke you up by pressing your front down into the sheets to slide himself back inside you til you were moaning and grinding back against him, til you were both cumming another achingly painful time together only to pass out in a limp, sweaty pile of entwined limbs once more, the evidence of each and every coupling between you smearing across his and your skin and trailing over the covers to cool.

When he wakes up--actually wakes up, bleary and disoriented and thirsty as all hell--it’s to pounding on his locked door and Jet’s angry voice yelling through the steel, vibrating through the ache in his skull that makes him wince in the dark.

“Why the fuck is the fridge open! Was that you? And there’s water all over the floor! Spike!”

Spike feels like he’s been hit by a truck, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes with a hoarse groan. His throat hurts and so does his dick. His back is starting to sting worse and worse the longer he lies on it while awake, and he wonders if you made him bleed. He still feels vaguely damp, as does the spot he’s lying on, which is another good indicator last night did happen. That thought settles a tight ball of anxiety in his stomach that frazzles itself when he lets his arms drop and hits a lump huddled beneath the blankets next to him.

“Oh shit,” he hisses under the sound of Jet’s yelling about food going bad. You make a pained sound but otherwise don’t move from beneath the covers. “H-Hey, are you okay?” Spike winces while turning onto his side, feeling as boneless as he does stiff, and peels back a little window to see your scrunched up face.

You pout and open your eyes just enough. His room is dark, but his eyes are used to it by now. “My pussy hurts.”

Spike sighs, letting his cheek squish into the pillow under him. “Yeah...same with my dick.”

You sputter a laugh that’s oddly soothing considering you sound like a wheezing dog. Spike laughs with you, letting the blanket fall up to his cheek, so you’re both as tucked in as possible without being hidden away completely. When you relax again, he realizes that Jet has wandered off, no doubt frustrated with the lack of reply to his questions, and Spike is left in another anxious silence, only this time you’re awake to experience it with him.

He soothes himself by reaching for the jug of water to share with you, watching you drink carefully and deeply before he finishes off what’s left of it, and has no way of distracting himself now from the questions he needs to ask.

“Are--” He clears his throat, glancing away from your tired eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay? Are we okay? After what happened last night? I’m sorry I didn’t control myself better, um--” He winces, digging his fingers into his eyes. “Shit.”

“Spike.” Small fingers wrap around his wrist and pull his hand down. You give him a sleepy but earnest look. “I know last night was weird. I enjoyed myself very much but... If anything, _I_ should apologize. I pressured you so much, and you were just trying to help me. I should have listened to you earlier about going to the hospital and I convinced you not to take me. This is all my fault and I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” he says, face twisting in conviction of his belief. You scoff softly, the covers covering up whatever it is you whisper to yourself. Spike gazes at you for a long moment before he sighs and stretches an arm up over his head, relaxing back into his slightly wet sheets and giving you a little smirk. “Y’know, they say two wrongs don’t make a right. But I think in this case we can make an exception. Or at least, I will for you.” His fingers brush his box of cigarettes and he fumbles with it while you give him a dry look for his dumb joke.

Flushing, he busies himself with the after-fuck smoke he was too exhausted to have last night, he says, “W-What I mean is, I didn’t feel pressured to do something I didn’t _want_ to do. I don’t think you did anything wrong, and you said you don’t think I did anything wrong, so--” He cuts his rambling off with a much needed inhale, holding the nicotine in until he feels it buzz through his veins, blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling.

Spike begins speaking again slowly after collecting himself, looking down at you with a softly pinched brow. “What I want to say, is I...admit that I’ve been thinking about doing that with you for a while now. Obviously in different circumstances, but, if you don’t have any regrets about it, then I don’t have any regrets about it.” A wild sentence for a man like Spike Spiegel, who has lived a life full of nothing but regrets, who wants nothing more than to right the wrongs he created.

You blink owlishly at him before covering your face with the covers and mumbling something he almost doesn’t hear. “Yeah...m-me, either.”

Spike smiles, an undercurrent of fondness running through him as he gently pries the covers away from your face. You’re biting your lip, lashes fluttering up towards him with a hopeful look in your eye that makes his heart skip a beat.

**Author's Note:**

> comments/kudos are love!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @ saetyrn9


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